Picking Flowers
by write-love-latte
Summary: Ginny Weasley thought that a higher power would punish Draco Malfoy for his behaviour. She didn't think the higher power would kill him. And she definitely didn't think that his ghost would return--to haunt her. DMGW R
1. A Peacock on the Pitch

Picking Flowers

**Summary****: Ginny Weasley thought that a higher power would punish Draco Malfoy for his behaviour. She didn't think the higher power would kill him. And she definitely didn't think that his ghost would return--to haunt **_**her**_**.**

| I | A Peacock on the Pitch

Ginny Weasley sighed in relief as she tasted her first breath of fresh air in over a week. The scent of autumn bloomed heavily on the cool evening, the smell of crisp, colouring leaves carried on the wind along with the aroma of late-blooming flowers. The grass Ginny's sneakered feet stepped out upon was a lush, unhindered green, and the sky above was lit brightly by the slowly descending sun. It was early October, and the castle grounds still carried the slight warmth of summer. An ever-increasing amount of work had kept her locked up in the castle for the past while, pouring over volumes of text on topics she was sure she would never need and writing essays until her hands were sore--but now, as the refreshing breeze whispered over her face and the sound of singing birds and rustling branches reached her ears, she soundly decided that she would never set foot in the castle ever again.

She could see the border where the grounds met the Forbidden Forest, a tangled mass of wildflowers and tinted leaves, and in the distance, she could make out the sparkling water of the lake. But neither of these places had made it on her list of destinations for today. With a kind of defiant confidence, she began to trudge across the large expanse of lawn towards the Quidditch pitch. There would be nothing like a good fly around the field on one of the school's standard broomsticks. Simply put, there could be no better way to relieve the tension of this past week. She could already feel the exhilaration of the wind in her hair, the weightlessness of soaring high above ground and the solid familiarity of a broom in her hands.

She hated to admit it to herself, but she already knew what she would find upon reaching the Quidditch pitch, even before she heard the awed gaggle of young female voices. She pushed her bottom lip out in a furious pout when she finally came upon them--a cluster of first and second year girls, huddled together and moving from one end of the field to the next, all straining to get the best view of a lone flier. Their voices were a fascinated, hormone-addled chorus of praise and admiration, and, to Ginny's repulsion, declarations of love. That's not to say the lone flier wasn't good at what he was doing--he was. Very, very good, in fact. He rode his broomstick like a man who owned the sky. Ginny found her cheeks colouring, and quickly turned away from the figure silhouetted against the sunset. She would not watch and give him more incentive to do what he was doing. The last thing anyone needed was someone like _him_ hogging the entire field and plugging it up with all of his moonstruck fans.

This was not the first time she had seen him. At the beginning of the school year, before the work had bogged her down in the library, she had been coming out to the pitch every evening for a ride. She had managed it for the first few days only. After that, the Draco Malfoy show had taken over the area. She supposed it was not his fault entirely that the whole female population of first and second year found him and his skills on a broomstick so enrapturing--but Ginny knew that once his fanclub had been established, he had done nothing whatsoever to disband it. If anything, he had started showing off--the git! She mentally slapped herself for oggling a particularly daring cartwheel--the way his legs held the broom, so loosely, so carelessly, and the way his arms extended above his head as though it did not matter if he fell--and scowled at the especially loud cheer he garnered from the nearby girls. He had definitely started showing off.

Not that she cared at all, she assured herself. She didn't care one vomit flavoured bean to stare at that ponce while he fluffed his feathers. She just wanted the Quidditch pitch back! He was not the one who owned it, after all. The girls whooed again, and Ginny grit her teeth, glaring so hard at a few of them that she was sure they could feel tiny daggers poking them on their rears. Air-headed ninnies, the lot of them! Encouraging him like that did nothing towards getting her Quidditch field back--and it surely was unhealthy for Malfoy, as well. The arrogance that had dogged him like a shadow lately had to be from all this extra attention he was getting. His head might just get so big, it would explode! Merlin, there was no way God, or whatever higher power there might be, would allow him to behave like this for long.

Ginny blushed when she realized she had joined the crowd of girls, and had been avidly, if distastefully, observing Malfoy for the last few minutes. This was not what she had come here for at all! Still, she could not help but stare at him as he glided to the ground, making a particularly graceful landing before bowing to his audience. Ginny was abruptly aware of the fact that she was taller than pretty much every single one of the people surrounding her, and that her bright hair would probably do her no good in this situation, either. She tried to duck a moment too late. His silver eyes settled on her and locked.

"Well if it isn't the Weaselette! I guess I must be more handsome than I thought, eh ladies?" The girls cooed in agreement, practically falling over themselves to move out of the way as he stepped towards Ginny. As though he were some sort of prince that required people to move out of his way! Ginny wished she could have performed wandless magic, if only to thwap each one of those brainless girls on the backside. Still, she found herself stepping back as well, as though afraid to touch him. She shook herself, searching for a reply. It would not do to stand there like some sort of barmy idiot.

But he turned away before she could get a word in, and was trotting off towards the changerooms before she had even realized he was gone. The girls swarmed after him, like a pack of loyal puppies, and Ginny gaped in shock. Her pride bristled with the need for a retort, but within seconds she was only one standing on this side of the field! She chewed her lip, angrily, before turning around to stomp back to the castle, her good mood forgotten. God could not let Draco Malfoy get away with this kind of thing constantly! There would have to be some sort of retribution soon, or else Ginny figured she might go crazy.

* * *

It started as a rumour, as all of these things usually do. Someone had seen Pansy Parkinson having a nervous breakdown in the Great Hall, and Crabbe and Goyle had sobbed through their especially sizable breakfasts. Blaise Zabini, Severus Snape, and, more importantly, the main target of the rumour, Draco Malfoy, were no where to be seen. The whispers spread like fire across dried land in the halls of Hogwarts. By noon, every student had heard one variation of the tale or another, and a new version was on the lips of every other person. Ginny had no idea what to believe.

She told herself it was simply a curiousity to know what was going on in the castle. She searched out all of Hogwarts' best known gossips, eager for more information. So, finally, Draco Malfoy had been set in his place! But as the stories she heard grew more and more morbid, she could not deny that her 'curiousity' was turning to concern. She was not going to burst into tears like some of the first years, for sure, but she definitely hoped a rampant Hippogriff hadn't sniped the git off his broom and made away with both his legs.

Yes, she definitely hoped that hadn't happened. Malfoy actually had very nice legs--strong, if you will, and--

Ginny's quille came apart on her page, a large puddle of ink settling where she had previously been writing. She cursed, was given a stern look by McGonagal, and then inspected the broken nib of her last quille. All of these rumours were getting to her head. Too much Draco Malfoy on the mind for one day could not be healthy at all. It definitely wasn't a good combination with Transfiguration. She pressed her fingers to her temples, and then realized that she had ink on her hands. Swearing again--and earning herself yet another sharp look--Ginny gave up trying to do anything at all. She placed her hands on the table, where she could not smear herself with more ink, and sat out of the rest of the period--wondering why, for Circe's sake, she was so out of sorts.

It was officially announced at dinner. The Great Hall had been a clamour of speculation, alive and noisy with the voices of a hundred inquiring students and smelling like freshly baked bread, roasted potatoes and fresh gossip. Ginny had been trying to listen in on as many conversations as possible. Struck down by a stray bolt of lightening in the middle of the night? Kidnapped and tortured by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before being left for dead on the steps of Dumbledore's office? Her eyes were practically crossed with all of the wild possibilities.

Dumbledore had risen from his seat at the front of the room. Although everyone had seemed absorbed in their own talk, the silence was almost immediate. It felt heavy and tense compared to the bedlam moments before. The old man, with his bright purple robes and flowing beard, was usually the image of joviality--but in this moment, he managed to look both sad and grim despite his bizarre attire. He did not begin his speech with the string of nonsense he was known for. His voice did not ring out with cheerfulness, and when his words were finished, the hall did not erupt into enthusiastic applause.

Instead, a terrible, mournful wailing started up. It seemed to fill the room, right up to the vaulted, magical ceiling.

There was a throbbing deep in her chest. Ginny looked down to find both her hands clasped, tightly, over her heart.

**Author's Note****: This is basically a little random idea I had and needed to write. It's a light little thing I decided I had to put down while I'm slugging through my own novel. Yes, my own novel. The one that might have been in stores on spring 2010 had I followed my agent/editor's timeline. But no, of course not. Anyhow. **

**Review please! The next chapter will be out soon.**


	2. Things That Go 'Bump' in the Night

* * *

Picking Flowers

| II | Things That Go 'Bump' in the Night

Ginny drummed her fingers against the table, listening intently to the soft sound of them hitting the wood. She was willing to listen to anything at the moment as long as it was not the rushing sound in her head. After Dumbledore's announcement earlier that evening, Hogwarts and its students had fallen into a spiritless mood. Those who had found the news too unbearable had retired to their dorms to cry on the shoulders of their friends or into their pillows, and those who were on less than friendly terms with Malfoy had simply slunk off to quiet corners where their indifference wouldn't be too obvious. Most of Ginny's friends were in the last group, but she had feigned incomplete homework and found herself, as she had many times that last week, in the library.

It was a peaceful place to be, considering the quiet discontent occuring outside its walls. The many towering shelves of books and bright, flickering candles came together to create Ginny's ideal haven--a place where she could work or think, whichever needed to be more urgently addressed. She decided that this evening was one that required her to think. After dinner, she had found a muted sort of shock settling over her body, a great, empty numbness that both scared and relieved her. Hadn't it only been a day ago that she'd watched Malfoy race through the clouds, displaying an articulate flurry of skills for his young female viewers? It would be...strange not having him around.

She bit the inside of her cheek. It was not like she _liked_ Malfoy or anything, but this was the sort of tragedy that everyone had to take some pain from. She remembered the first time she'd spoken to him, back at the beginning of second year. She felt the weight of those four years very heavily now, as she recalled the event--an ego-bruising exchange that had left her teary-eyed and sniffling. It had been on the Hogwarts Express--she had just changed into her robes, and had been feeling remarkably self-conscious about herself. The Tom Riddle incident had been resolved perhaps three months prior, and she hadn't wanted to be blamed for or reminded of it. Tripping due to an especially violent lurch of the train and falling directly onto Malfoy had been the worse thing she could have imagined.

He'd not been kind to her then, and he had never been since. He had made some comment about Weasels picking up things that did not belong to them, and some arrogant snipe about the color of her hair and Blast-Ended Skrewts--and that had left her as miserable as anything. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. She had been so naive as a child, and so very sensitive. She remembered with some amusement the look on his face when he'd seen her tears--a fascinating combination of surprise and awkwardness. He probably hadn't expected to make her cry, and he'd left quickly after that.

It hadn't been their last exchange, for sure, though she had to admit that he bothered her far less than he did her brother and Harry. It probably wasn't because he'd despised her any less than them. She'd reasoned that it was caused by his general desire to poke and prod at people who were more likely to gather him some attention. By her third year, she had been absolutely sure that Malfoy did about three quarters of the things he did for attention. His hair, for example. Up until his fourth year he had kept it slicked back into a shiny, platinum helmet--but in his fourth year, that had fallen out of popularity with the girls. So he'd stopped gelling it. She recalled her thirteen year old self seeing him with his hair loose around his forehead for the first time. She had stopped in the middle of a hallway and gaped at him until he'd made some rude comment, and then she'd hustled away. The girls in her year had not stopped talking about his hair for a very, very long time.

She chuckled softly. She hadn't truly grown much of a backbone until last year, her fifth year and his sixth. She had avoided him like the plague for her entire fourth year; now that she was older, she could admit that it was because she'd been afflicted with an awful case of acne, as many teenage girls often were. She'd just known that he would have battered her tender body image had she gone near him. Growing up had been hard on her, Ginny knew, but it had definitely appeared to go easy on him. Not once had she ever seen Draco Malfoy's skin with a single blemish. He had never passed through that awkward, lanky stage that all of her brothers had undergone, and not once had she heard his voice crack. It seemed as though it had gone from young and boyish to masculine and refined overnight.

They'd exchanged many more snipes during her fifth year, but Ginny had never really concerned herself with him. They'd maintained their distances, and for most of the time she had lived as though he did not even exist. That was how life was, she supposed, leaning an elbow on the table in front of her and cupping her chin with her hand. She knew many people, perhaps had even spoken to them, and it was not really until something happened to them that their existences truly became real in her mind.

She thought back to very recently, to the beginning of her sixth year. It had been only about a month since the first time she had seen Malfoy against the sky, at times racing at breakneck speeds, at others sailing across the horizon without a care in the world. Of course, she had watched him before at Quidditch games, but there was something different about watching him fly simply for the sake of it. She covered her throat abruptly, feeling as though she had a lump in it. Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly. She had not even liked the bastard! Heck, she had wished that something would happen to him so that she could have her Quidditch pitch back, but now that something actually had...She and Malfoy had had nothing in common whatsoever, except for the fact that they both loved to fly. Now...now she didn't know if she'd ever be able to fly without thinking of him.

She covered her eyes with her hand, surprised to find herself choking back tears. There should be no reason for her to feel like this. Slowly, as though her joints had stiffened while she sat, Ginny rose from her seat. She would go back to her Dormitory and get a good night's sleep. It was the stress of the entire week coupled with such a big event that was making her this emotional. All she needed was her soft, warm four-poster bed to make her feel better.

The halls were quiet and dimly lit as she made her way through them. Every now and then she stopped, thinking back to a time when she'd seen Malfoy standing just there, or right over there. It was ridiculous, she reasoned, thinking about him so much. Perhaps she was just in shock. It was not every day that something like this happened. She would have to ask Luna to slap her back down to earth and away from thoughts of Malfoy. But for now bed would have to do. Sleep would have to do.

* * *

When she'd reached the room she shared with three other girls in her year, she'd had to be very quiet. Ginny had become very good at sneaking into bed at late hours, but tonight she seemed prone to bad luck. She stubbed her toe on the side of her trunk, and it was all she could do to suppress her groan of pain as a white-hot flash of agony spread up her leg. She swore quietly under her breath. After pulling her favorite pair of pajamas out of her trunk, she fell over--loudly--as she attempted to tug them on. One of her roommates shushed her irritably from behind the curtains of a four-poster, and Ginny coloured in frustration.

By the time she'd finished her nightly routine--which, tonight, consisted of spilling toothpaste all over herself, running out of toilet paper at an inoppurtune moment and breaking her brush as she combed it through her hair--her bed seemed like a very welcome refuge. She practically lunged onto it, relishing the feel of the cotton sheets and pulling the curtains around so that she was the center of a sea of fabric. Snuggling beneath the thick blankets had never felt so good to her; as she lay there, splayed out on her bed, she felt most of the tension she'd been carrying around melt out of her limbs. Sleep seemed like it would come for her very quickly--that was, until she heard the noises.

It started out as a slight rustling sound, quiet and not really audible in the dim silence of the room. She thought it could be one of her roommates shifting in their sleep, until it begun to get louder. She'd frowned, her eyes already half lidded with sleep. Perhaps it was the wind through the trees beyond the window beside her bed? Her eyes opened wide and her heart clenched with fear when she heard the footsteps. They seemed to be getting louder and louder, as though they were approaching her bed, and then they stopped. For a few moments, it appeared as though the noises had ceased. That was right. It was all her imagination. There were charms set up to prevent intruders, and so she had just been imagining it all.

And then Ginny felt the blood run cold in her veins. Something--_someone_ was pulling back the curtains of her four-poster.

She hastily turned the other way, her back to the intruder, and squeezed her eyes shut. If she just pretended it wasn't there, then maybe it would go away and she would be able to get some sleep. Right now, all she was experiencing was the result of her stressed out brain. It was playing tricks on her, and that was the full explanation. If she just kept her eyes closed tight and pretended nothing was...

"Open your eyes, Ginevra."

Her eyes snapped open immediately. A hand clasped over her mouth kept her scream from waking the entire castle.

She was staring right into the silver-grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

**Author's Note: Yey, another chapter. Hope you guys enjoyed this one, though I'll admit that it was kind of uneventful. The next chapter is where the real action begins for this story, so stay tuned. Thanks to those who reviewed--and remember to review again!**


	3. The Ghost of Draco Malfoy

Picking Flowers

| III | The Ghost of Draco Malfoy

Ginny was sure that her eyes were the size of saucers. Draco Malfoy was crouching beside her bed, his hand pressed securely against her mouth. Not to mention the fact that his face was inches from hers, eyes narrowed and one side of his mouth curled up in amusement. She blinked once, and then again to make sure she was seeing properly. He moved back enough for her to make out his blond locks, falling carelessly onto his forehead, and his disheveled Hogwarts uniform. It was definitely Draco Malfoy. But how in Merlin's name had he gotten here?

"I'm going to take my hand away now, _Ginevra_," he told her carefully, snickering slightly as he uttered her name. Ginny knew her cheeks were flushing bright red with both anger and embarassment. "Please don't become a harpy."

She sat upright as soon as he removed his hand. "What the _fuck_?"

He straightened, cocking one of his fine eyebrows at her and waving a long, slender finger. "What a disgusting potty mouth you have, Weasley. Too late to put my hand back, though."

She ignored him, her shock plainly evident on her face. "How...? Why...?" she sputtered, barely able to find the words to express her astonishment, "But you're a _vegetable_!"

He frowned, looking down at his body. "I'm definitely not a vegetable, Weasley. I don't know where you got that from."

The dormitory was dark behind him, and quiet. Ginny could see the outline of the door just beyond his tall form. She had not heard it open or close--it remained locked, just as she had left it when she herself came in. She clung desperately to the possibility that this was just an odd dream, and the thought calmed her somewhat. Of course. Stress and her brain just simply did not go well together. In the morning, she would head to Madam Pomfrey and get a month's worth of Dreamless Sleep Potion, and then everything would be fine. She peered back up through her bangs at Malfoy.

"I'm dreaming," she told him firmly, even though he did not seem like a dream at all, "This is definitely a dream, and I do not have to talk to you." She lay back down, nestling her head onto her fluffy pillow and closing her eyes. A dream and nothing more. She felt a depression on one side of the bed, and the mattress squeeked loudly. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head to peer at him. He was now lying right next to her, his arms propped behind his head--the picture of relaxation. "Get off my bed, Malfoy."

"Sure," he said, not moving an inch, "But first you have to acknowledge that this is not a dream. And I am _not _a vegetable."

She sat up once again, looking down at him irritably. He smirked up at her from her own bed, his blond hair making a halo around his resting head. He looked kind of...She bit her lip, scolding herself for having such thoughts about a dream-created Malfoy. But maybe, since this was all in her own head after all...She reached a hand out tentatively to touch him, and then yelped when one of his hands flew up, Seeker-fast, to pinch her forearm. Something solid, undoubtedly a pillow or an article of clothing, collided with the curtains on one side of her bed. One of her roommates sniffed loudly in annoyance, and Ginny looked at him wide-eyed, rubbing the spot where he had pinched. That wouldn't have happened in a dream, would it?

"But Dumbledore said..." she muttered, still rubbing her arm in surprise and confusion, "Dumbledore said you were comatose. He said it didn't look like you would wake up."

Malfoy seemed to study her for a moment, and Ginny found herself turning away from his gaze. There was something intense and molten about those eyes scrutinizing her face. It made her chest ache uncomfortably. "Said I wouldn't wake up, eh?" he said, swinging his legs off the side of her bed and standing, his back to her. Ginny sat there, looking at him; his lean form, looking as strong and healthy as ever beneath the white button-up shirt he wore. She couldn't imagine the person in front of her laying on a bed his entire life.

"So, if this isn't a dream...how are you here, Malfoy?" she questioned, running a hand through her messy hair. "You...It's not possible for you to be here."

He turned, then, a bitter smile on his face. As though imitating her previous motion, he brushed some of his hair away from his forehead, looking off into the distance before once again focussing on her. "Well, Weasley, it's completely possible for me to be here, if you think about it."

She slapped a hand onto her bed in exasperation. "No, it's not! I've thought about it. It's not possible at all. I have no idea what you're talking about!" She pursed her lips at him, once again completely sure she was dreaming. There was no way any of this could be happening. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she could make the Malfoy in front of her a little bit more tolerable, since it seemed this dream wasn't about to go away.

He only huffed contemptuously, the same harsh smile twisting his lips. "Weasley," he said, his words almost a snarl, "I'm _dead_."

"What?" Ginny wasn't sure she'd heard that right.

"_I'm dead, you idiot_."

* * *

Ginny gave a mighty yawn as she hurried on her way, looking from side to side as though expecting someone to run right into her. She hadn't had much of a chance to sleep last night so exhaustion and paranoia had settled on heavy. After Malfoy's sudden revelation, he had taken his leave--but Ginny still hadn't been able to shake the feeling that he--his _ghost_, apparently--was right there looking at her. She'd lain awake all night, studying the grey ceiling above her and wondering how on earth she could figure out whether or not she was going crazy, or if Malfoy really was dead. The thought of him dead made a small part of her cringe with horror: alive in an everlasting state of slumber was one thing--dead was another.

She hadn't seen him since then. The thought that he was lurking about somewhere in the castle gave her the shivers--even worse, the thought that he might not exist at all and was lurking about in _her head_, gave her the shivers. Ginny was on the verge of breaking out into physical tremors as she began the last climb up towards the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey would put an end to this for sure. At least, she hoped so. The circular staircase felt like it was about to close in on her, the old, chipped stone giving her a feeling of inescapable claustrophobia. Merlin, she didn't know whether or not to hope Malfoy was dead or alive, the git!

The arched entrance to the Infirmary loomed near, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she walked into the open space. Ginny could see Madam Pomfrey in her office at one end, and around the bend she could make out rows and rows of neatly made up beds. They were all empty. Her heart gave a frightened patter. Ginny turned away. There had to be an explanation for it, of course. There would be, for sure. She decided that it would be in her best interest to hurry this up. Class would be starting in a few minutes, and it would be ideal if she could make it down to breakfast in time to snag a muffin.

She approached the mediwitch's glass office door. Inside, the woman's workspace was impeccably organized; stacks of folders towered around the compact woman, and sheafs of thick parchment were neatly folded in various places. Madam Pomfrey herself appeared to be occupied with a book, which she had lain out on her desk alongside a cup of tea. Ginny knocked hesitantly, and the woman looked up, her face transforming into a warm smile when she recognized her visitor.

"Miss Weasley!" she greeted warmly, opening the door and ushering her in. Madam Pomfrey resumed her seat before giving the redhead a quick perusal before any further words could be said. "You _look _perfectly healthy, save for some impressive bags beneath your eyes." The mediwitch quickly took her wand out of her pocket, swiftly conjuring a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. "Drink, dear. Is that all that's brought you here? You'd better be quick. Class will be starting in ten minutes."

Ginny stood awkwardly, holding the Pepper-Up Potion in her hand sheepishly. She did not like the things, but now that Madam Pomfrey had given it to her, she had no choice but to drink it. She could picture in her mind's eye Madam Pomfrey's disappointed frown if she were to refuse. Uncorking it distastfully, Ginny knocked it back swiftly, hoping that some of the taste could be avoided by doing so. There was a brief moment before an intense convulsion wracked her body, and she grimaced as a warm and slightly burning sensation spread throughout her limbs. Once the ordeal was over, though, she felt quite refreshed, and quite prepared to get down to the topic of business she had come to discuss.

"Draco Malfoy," she said firmly, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Madam Pomfrey's face darkened, and an aura of gloom seemed to settle over her. "Dear, what a sad story you've come for. I never did like the Malfoys, mark me, but that boy...He took a turn for the worst last night. It was the Headmaster's decision to send him off to St. Mungo's. There's been no word yet on how he's been, but it can't be good." Madam Pomfrey picked at her white robes, the corners of her mouth turned down sadly. "His mother is just in pieces."

Ginny felt all the energy she had gained from the Pepper-Up Potion drain out of her instantly. A deep kind of lethargy threatened to overpower her as, what she had failed to identify as her worst fear, was realized. There was no doubt in her mind, now, that Malfoy was dead. Madam Pomfrey had told her all she needed to know. Ginny turned to leave.

"Miss Weasley, darling, are you alright?" Madam Pomfrey asked, concerned. She reached out a hand to touch Ginny's arm, but Ginny shrugged it off.

"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I really should go. Class is going to be starting soon."

"Well if you need anything dear, you know where to find me." Madam Pomfrey sighed deeply. "Take care, Ginny." Ginny managed a small, tight smile. She wanted to reciprocate Madam Pomfrey's obvious affection, but she could not bring herself to shake the horrible feeling of dread in her stomach. Draco Malfoy was dead. His ghost was lounging around Hogwarts castle.

She was in for it for sure.

* * *

Ginny spent the entire morning on edge, waiting for Draco Malfoy to pop out of some corner and scare the wits out of her. She hardly paid attention during class; instead, she eyed her surroundings suspiciously, waiting for a flash of pale blonde hair and some undoubtedly impending catastrophe. She waited all through lunch to hear rumours of a fully healthy Draco Malfoy prowling through the Hogwarts halls; listened intently to any conversation she could wrap her ears around--was fully prepared to tell everyone that yes, she had seen it too, and yes, it was definitely true.

Nothing happened.

By fourth period Transfiguration, Ginny was beginning to relax. In fact, when she buckled down to begin the classwork--a quite complex task that consisted of changing a quille into a stuffed bird--she was paying complete attention to her work and only her work. Draco Malfoy--or the lack thereof--had been put completely out of her mind, and she puzzled over and laughed along with her peers as quille after quille went hilariously wrong. By the time it was her turn to step to the front of the class, she was sure she had the spell figured out. McGonagal's mouth had long gone sour from the repeated failures, and there was no doubt that the witch was in a mood that bordered on foul.

The parchment upon which she had done her calculations clutched in her hand, Ginny drew her wand and began. She focussed in on the task at hand--tapping the quille just so, picturing the product in her mind. McGonagal had situated herself across from the designated spell-space, probably so that she could quell any disasters before they really began--but Ginny could see the woman nodding her head in approval, the frown that had wrinkled her ancient eyebrows gradually softening. Then she must be doing it correctly. The class was silent, waiting tensely to see if she could pull through. A smile of satisfaction graced her lips as she reached the halfway mark. Now all she had to do was--

"FUCK!" Ginny yelped, swinging around angrily, her free hand flying to her abused rear. Someone had pinched her--_hard_--and she thought she knew who. She heard him before she saw him. The sound of Draco Malfoy laughing uproarously. There he was, leaning against the nearby wall, his hands holding his stomach and his eyes near watering with mirth. Her outrage stalled almost immediately. She had never seen him laugh before, and the sight was utterly startling. His hair was falling into his eyes, and his smile...

It took her another moment to realize that the entire class had begun to laugh, as well. Her friend, Colin, had also joined in, though at least he was trying to hide it behind his hand. It was his eyes that really caused her to panic, though. They were wide with something akin to apprehension. As she watched him, he rose his hand to point behind her. Behind her...that's right! McGonagal and the quille were behind her...McGonagal...and the quille...

Ginny spun around quickly and her eyes widened with amazement as she saw what had become of McGonagal and the quille. The woman stood before her, covered from head to toe in soft, downy feathers. Atop her head, where usually a stern bun resided, a magnificent crest of feathers stood erect. A snort of laughter escaped her lips before she could help it. McGonagal's face hardened even further, if that was possible.

"What's so funny, Ms. Weasley?" she questioned, her voice stiff.

"N-nothing Professor," Ginny stammered, trying to hold back her laughter.

"You can laugh all you want in detention this evening, Ms Weasley. Report to me at eight o'clock. I have a chore that you will find very funny indeed."

The class continued to snicker uncontrollably as Ginny took her seat, trying to hold back her own giggles. It was only then she realized that no one else had noticed Malfoy. He was still leaning against the same wall, in perfect view of all the other students. He wore a look that could only be described as despair, although there was something about his face that told her he was still thoroughly amused by the debacle he had just caused. She shifted in her seat, her cheeks reddening with a fury that had been delayed by the hilarity of the situation. He had pinched her--he had pinched her _bum_, the nerve of him! He had caused her to be a given a detention--her first this year, no less!

Ginny wondered if it would be possible to punch a ghost in the face.

**Author's Note: Another chapter up & this one is even longer than usual. Hoped you guys liked it--I sure enjoyed writing it. I think that it is becoming a bit angsty, despite my best efforts. What can I say? I used to be a regular to the angst genre, and it still kind of has its holds on me. And this is a story about **_**death**_**, after all. But hopefully Draco's antics will make up for the fact that he's dead. Thanks to everyone who reviewed--it's great incentive to keep writing and updating so quickly.**

**MORE reviews would be highly appreciated. So...please and thank you :-)**


	4. Toes

Picking Flowers

| IV | Toes

If Ginny thought she had been in a foul mood after her disastrous Transfiguration class that day, she'd had no idea a mood like the one she was currently in could even exist. She walked out of her two hour detention feeling as though all of her energy had been sucked out of her. She could hardly find enough strength to keep herself from slouching and dragging her feet along the stone floors. She was reminded, as her eyelids drooped lazily, that she had not gotten much sleep last night. A spike of hot irritation flared up in her stomach. The gruelling hours she had just spent cleaning and reorganizing mouldy cabinets had been Draco Malfoy's fault, and so was her lack of sleep. She thought that her evening might have gone much better had she at least been able to _shout_ at the git after the disaster he had caused today--but, of course, he had, ever so conveniently, _disappeared_ at the end of class.

The halls were silent and empty. The lamps on the walls had been dimmed, and they cast flickering shadows across her path. It was probably past curfew already, but Ginny took the long way back to Gryffindor Tower, wanting to be alone with her thoughts. She had brushed Colin off angrily before dinner, and she wasn't quite ready to apologize to him yet. Not that he had done anything wrong--of course he hadn't--it had just been her own sour mood. Draco Malfoy had simply ruined her entire day, and she wasn't yet ready to start putting it back into order.

Ginny found herself drifting into a pleasantly meditative state. Tomorrow was Friday, and then at last it would be the weekend. Although she had no plans, the very thought of a lazy Saturday morning brightened her spirits. Sleeping in would be a very welcome way to spend her time. After that she could have a large, late breakfast, and then she could catch up on all the assignments she was sure she had neglected to do the past two days.

"Weasley!" someone whispered hoarsely, and Ginny spun around quickly. She had just passed the entrance to a passage that branched off of the one she was using, and, nestled in the shadows behind a glinting suit of armor, was Draco Malfoy. As if _he_ needed to hide. The bastard could probably just walk right through the wall. He gestured toward her, urging her to join him, but Ginny decided that she'd had enough of him today. She turned her back and made to keep on walking. Ignoring him would be best for both of them.

She grunted as one of his hands clapped over her mouth, and his other arm fastened around her waist. She made to struggle, but he seemed to move her swiftly and with plenty ease back into the darkness of the hall from which he had come. Ginny was reminded of his Quidditch-toned body--and she blushed, realizing that she was pressed right up against him. Damnit, Ginny thought: weren't ghosts supposed to be unable to touch the living? Didn't _all_ the other ghosts at Hogwarts walk right through people? And how on earth had he managed to be so _warm_? It was like the skin beneath his rumpled uniform burned right through her body.

She recognized the fact that they had stopped, just out of the way of the light that filtered in from the hallway where she had been walking. He appeared to be leaning against a wall, but he had not removed his hands from her form. "I need you to be very quiet, Weasley," he whispered to her, and, to her surprise, breath ghosted over her skin. Ginny rolled her eyes, but could not help the slight thrill of fear that ran through her body. Why did he need her to be quiet? Why on earth did he appear to be holding her hostage in a darkened corridor? And why did he feel so damn _alive_ with his body aligned to hers as it was?

She heard the soft plodding of padded feet, and a feline mewl that sounded, even to her ears, suspicious and menacing. She understood. Malfoy had somehow known that Mrs. Norris would be making an appearance at any moment, and he had decided to save her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at once. Draco Malfoy deciding to save _her_, Ginny Weasley? It sounded amazingly far-fetched even in her own head, and Ginny nearly chuckled at her own stupidity. It was only the fact that she had Malfoy's palm pressed to her face that prevented her from alerting the miserable cat to her presence. She had just completed a detention--the last thing she needed was another one.

Everything was very quiet for a few moments, and Ginny eyed the mouth of the corridor tensely. She saw the cat stalk past, its grey and brown fur slicked back as though it were searching for prey. How she hated that cat! It had caught her several times in the past few years, and she had served one too many detentions with Filch as a result. She shivered and, to her surprise, Malfoy seemed to hold her more tightly. She frowned, but didn't try to move. There was no telling whether or not the cat had gone far enough for it to be considered safe. She wouldn't want to compromise what was turning out to be a narrow escape.

Finally, several minutes passed, and she felt Malfoy's arms relax around her. She moved away immediately, taking it as a sign that all was clear, and turned to face him. He watched her intently, and Ginny chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't _want_ to say it, but she supposed it would be best, just in case he actually had done it out of kindness or remorse or _something_.

"Thanks, Malfoy," she said quietly, watching his handsome face in the darkness that surrounded them.

He smirked at once. "Oh, don't worry, Weasley. I didn't do it for you." She glared, but he continued. "I thought maybe you would have cooled down after your detention. Did you have fun cleaning all those shelves? There were some nasty cobwebs, weren't there? But I guess you're used to that."

Ginny's anger gushed to the forefront, and she placed her hands on her hips. She was far too tired to verbally spar with him, so she would just take the easy, mature way out. "If that's all, I'm going back to Gryffindor Tower now." She spun on her heel, but one of his strong hands had reached out and grabbed her forearm, that same self-satisfied smirk still on his face.

"Wait, wait, Weasley. I think you owe me a favour now that I've saved you from the cat and Filch." Ginny didn't think it was possible to get any more angry than she already was. It was no wonder he had 'saved' her. He needed something done that only someone _alive_ could do, and he intended to use _her_!

"Go find someone else," she said, stubbornly, "I refuse to do the likes of you any favours." He made a face, his grip on her arm becoming dangerously hard. The smirk had been wiped off his face.

"If you haven't noticed, Weasley," he said, as though through grit teeth, "You're the only one who can see me."

Ginny _had_ noticed. First there had been the scene with him in the Transfiguration classroom. Then, he had lurked very obviously around the Slytherin table during dinner. Not one person, other than Ginny herself, had seen him. She turned to face him once again, biting her lip and staring unabashedly down at his hand clasped around her arm. "And that's not _my_ fault, is it?"

"At least listen to what I'm asking," he said, still not sounding one bit like he was about to _ask_.

Ginny looked at him for a moment. He looked like he was suppressing some sort of desperation. "Fine, Malfoy. I'll hear you out."

"Good," he said, releasing her arm at once, and leaning relaxedly back against the wall. Irritation made Ginny bite her lip. He really was insufferable. "I need you to walk down to the Quidditch pitch. That's all."

"When?" she questioned, her mind already working over why Malfoy would possibly want her to do _that_.

"Tonight. Right now."

Ginny was suddenly very aware of how tired she was--and how annoyed she was, too, especially at the person in front of her. He hadn't even said please! Well, if he thought he could act like some sort of spoilt brat and get everything damn thing he wanted--and after what he had put her through today, too!--he had another thing coming to him.

"Absolutely not." She turned around, her feet propelling her in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room.

She heard a growl of frustration, and then his quick footsteps as he caught up with her. "Why _not_?"

Ginny had to stop herself from laughing. He sounded like a petulant child! "Because I am _exhausted_, Malfoy. And you are utterly unbearable to be around for more than thirty blasted seconds."

He stopped abruptly, and Ginny could practically feel the fact that he had crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. She kept walking, determined not to look back. "Tired, are you?" he mocked, a taunting tone in his voice, "You don't know the _meaning_ of tired, yet!"

Ginny glanced over her shoulder as everything went eerily quiet. The hall behind her was empty. He was gone, and what he had just said could not bode well at all.

* * *

A cold draft over her feet roused her from her deep, restful sleep. She squinted groggily in the dark of the dormitory, vaguely able to hear the breathing of her roommates on the nearby beds. She felt the heavy caress of sleep across her body, ready to pull her back into the serenity of dreamless slumber--but first she had to get her feet out of the cold. She moved them upwards, intending to tuck them beneath the blanket which had, undoubtedly, ridden up as she slept--only to have them revealed to the chill of the dormitory moments later. She tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes, but even though her feet were still cold, she could not fight away the rest that she so needed. Slowly but surely, she was drifting back off...

Ginny screeched in a mixture of mild pain and pure surprise coupled with outrage. She sat bolt upright in her bed, pulling her abused right foot toward her. "MALFOY!" she all but yelled, fury spreading throughout her entire body as she took him in, sitting innocently on the edge of her bed and watching her with a sickly sweet expression.

"Don't you know, Weasley? This is what ghosts do." He gestured matter-of-factedly to himself, the bed and her feet. "They pull your toes while you're sleeping."

Ginny would have killed him if he wasn't already dead.

* * *

By the next night, Ginny was not sure how exactly she had managed to walk up from her most recent detention--this one had been with Snape and had been earned for sleeping during his Double Potions class--all the way to her bed. She smelt rank--of sweat and the potions chemicals she had been forced to manually clean out of cauldrons--but she knew she would, under no circumstances, be able to make it through a shower. Malfoy had kept her up all of the previous night. He would let her fall into a light sleep for maybe a few minutes before--harshly, she acknowledged, grimacing at her sore feet--yanking her toes. But tonight she had something planned for him.

As she stripped out of her uniform and slipped into her pajamas, she couldn't help but smile at herself. She didn't know if magic would work on ghosts, so she had devised something much better. Malfoy would definitely stop his torture after tonight. And she would finally be able to get some sleep. She turned towards her bed, ready to jump onto it--and was startled to find Malfoy already seated at its foot, the curtains drawn back around him so that she had a clear view of his waiting position.

She blushed.

"Were you...were you watching me?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. I can spy on far more attractive girls if I don't risk having my corneas burned away by _your_ naked body."

Ginny scowled, but was too tired to respond. She dove onto her bed, drawing the curtains around. None of her dormmates had come up yet, so the room was empty. She found it strange to be here alone with Malfoy, but even that feeling was muffled by her exhaustion. It was amazing what a toll full days of class and two-hour detentions could have on you. She lay back, covering herself with her blankets.

Malfoy immediately uncovered her toes. She closed her eyes, telling herself to have patience with the git. It would all come to an end soon enough.

"You know, if you just went out to the Quidditch pitch with me, this would all stop."

Ginny harrumphed. "Go yourself."

He was silent.

Ginny waited for all of her roommates to get to bed. During that time, she fell asleep several times and was woken, cruelly, by the hands of Draco Malfoy on her toes. But she tolerated it with little more than sullen grunts--only so that he wouldn't suspect her plan. When it seemed the night was well under way, and when she could hear the rhythmic breathing of the girls she shared her room with, Ginny prepared herself. It was hard to stay awake, even though she knew revenge was near. She adjusted her head in such a way that she had a clear view of Malfoy. He had barely changed position since she had come onto the bed. He sat, waiting with surprising patience, for her to fall asleep again.

She let a few minutes pass, allowing her eyelids to droop down just enough for it to seem like they were closed while still allowing her a view, if a blurry one, of her tormenter. This was where she took her greatest bet. She had reasoned that since he could touch her, she could touch him, as well. If this didn't work, then she would probably just have earned her toes more severe punishment. But the risk was absolutely necessary. The promise of sleep was too great to pass up.

He leaned over her toes, preparing to tug at them. She waited until his head was almost directly over her feet, trying to keep her breathing steady as his hands neared.

Three...

Two...

One...

Ginny brought her leg up with as much force as she could muster in her groggy state. To her surprise and triumph, her foot collided with a great slap against Draco Malfoy's face. With a massive groan, he thudded onto the bed, his hands cupping his face in agony. His body writhed, legs colliding with hers.

"There's more where that came from!" Ginny said, loudly, feeling as though she had accomplished a great feate. He stilled and peered at her from between his fingers, his eyes watering with pain. She almost felt sorry for him, the way he was looking at her.

But he didn't pull her toes again that night.

**Author's Note: Oh Draco, Draco, Draco! I hope you've learned your lesson! Ginny is not one to be messed with, especially when she's tired and pissed. I wonder how our Slytherin will get his revenge? Will Ginny ever just go with him to that damn Quidditch pitch that caused all of this? Not much romance yet--but I don't really want to rush their feelings. Good old development is key.**

**This chapter was actually getting a bit **_**too**_** long, so I lopped off a bit of it to put in the next chapter instead. Hope you guys enjoyed it, nonetheless! The reviews are superb, by the way, and VERY VERY appreciated :-) So remember to review! **


	5. Sunrise

Picking Flowers

| V | Sunrise

Ginny could almost feel herself glowing the next morning as she took her place at the Gryffindor table for a late breakfast. Malfoy had remained sprawled over the foot of her bed right up until she had fallen asleep, though he had not been there this morning when she woke. When he had left, she did not know--the rest of her night and, she admitted, quite a few hours of this morning, had been taken up with one of the best, most satisfying sleeps Ginny had ever experienced. That spectacular kick to Malfoy's face had brightened her mood considerably and she flashed her brother, Ron, a cheery grin as she began to shovel pancakes onto her plate.

"You're in an awful good mood," Ron said grumpily, a forkful of scrambled eggs poised before his mouth. Ginny could only smile. If Ron knew that she had managed to kick Draco Malfoy squarely in the face, he would probably spontaneously combust with joy, before spontaneously combusting with envy. But she knew there was no way he would believe her. To the entire castle, the story and person that was Draco Malfoy was slowly being forgotten. The sense of gloom that had settled with Dumbledore's accouncement would, Ginny knew, eventually be lifted away as the months passed. She frowned as she realized that, soon enough, she would be the only one who remembered--_really remembered_--Draco Malfoy.

"Thinking of me?" Ginny jumped, dropping the spoonful of syrup she had been about to pour onto her pancakes. She didn't have to look to know that Malfoy was hovering right over her left shoulder. No other voice could sound so wicked and mocking. She turned to take in his face, noting his cocked eyebrows. The lack of a bruise from their encounter last night left her with a feeling of disappointment. She supposed that ghosts could not bruise.

"Never!" she said vehemently, glaring at him as hard as she could. To her surprise and horror, Malfoy's body became suddenly distorted. Ginny gaped as Colin Creevey passed right through him, emerging in front of her with a confused expression.

She realized what she had done, and almost slapped her forehead in exasperation. She shifted her glance back to Ron, noting that he was wearing his befuddled face--mouth turned down and eyes extra wide. He seemed to have stopped eating mid-swallow, and was staring at her as though she had gone mad. She hoped to god he was not inquisitive enough to ask her who she had just been talking to, but before she could find out for sure, Colin cut in.

"Are you angry at me, Ginny?" he asked, seating himself next to her despite not yet having an answer, "You don't look as though you're happy to see me." Ginny was once again struck by realization. She had been glaring at Malfoy--but because Colin could not see Malfoy, it had probably looked like she was glaring at him! That damned Malfoy was trying to make her look insane!

"No! No, of course I'm not angry at you, Colin," she said, giving him a weak grin. She would have to watch how she behaved in public what with Malfoy's ghost wandering around, and her being the only one who could see it. She didn't want people thinking she was crazy. "I'm just having a strange morning." She glanced back over her shoulder to see Malfoy still standing there, a bemused smirk on his face. He was definitely up to some sort of mischief.

"Well that's good, then," Colin said, directing his attention to the breakfast dishes laid out before him. He went directly for the sausages, and Ginny heard Malfoy snicker quietly behind her. Oh, mischief indeed. "Has Luna talked to you yet?" Colin questioned, in between chewing his first chunk of meat.

"Luna? She was supposed to talk to me?"

Colin's eyebrows lowered thoughtfully. "Ah well, I guess I can ask you all the same. We wanted to know if you were doing anything next weekend."

That's right! Next week would be the year's first Hogsmeade excursion. Ginny hadn't even thought about it once these past few days. She needed to stock up on enough Honeydukes chocolate to last her till the next Hogsmeade weekend--and, of course, getting out of the castle might also give her a few hours of relief from Malfoy. Surely he couldn't follow her there? She glanced quickly back at him, and frowned when she discovered that he was no longer there. A peculiar, niggling feeling of dread began to tickle her stomach.

"Gin?"

"Oh, sorry," she apologized. She'd been pondering over Malfoy's disappearance and had neglected to answer Colin's question. "I'm not busy. What are you guys doing?"

"We thought--"

Colin cut off as an entire pitcher of pumpkin juice was dumped, unceremoniously, over his head. Ginny gaped, unable to take her eyes off the now sodden Creevey and the plastic pitcher which had been discarded on the floor behind the benches. Mousy brown hair plastered to his forehead and shirt soaked, Colin looked the picture of shock. Ginny couldn't stop herself. She felt the first inklings of laughter begin to whell up in her throat--that was, before an entire pitcher of cold milk was dumped over _her_ head. She turned to see Malfoy behind her, his arms crossed in satisfaction over his chest. He seemed about to burst out into laughter of his own, but to Ginny's surprise he turned his head away from her and pointed in mock modesty to her shirt. She could see a barely suppressed grin on his face before she followed the direction of his finger with her eyes.

"MALFOY!" she bellowed, all of her Weasley anger suddenly exploding. She jumped from her seat, fully prepared to charge the bastard--before she remembered that her plain white t-shirt was clinging transparently to her wet body, giving the entire hall a splendid view of her navy blue bra. Giving Malfoy a splendid view of her navy blue bra.

She scanned the hall hastily, mortified to find that every face was turned her way. Not only was she drenched in milk, her skivvies on full view, but she had shouted the name of someone who every other person in the hall believed to be dead. Great. Just great. She attempted to cover herself with her arms. It was no use. The Slytherins in the far corner started up a roar of laughter. Ginny felt tears prick at her eyes from the humiliation of it all.

"I've found you, you milk-brained fiend!" Ginny swung around to see Luna Lovegood barrelling towards her, with what appeared to be a large textbook in hand. The blonde had a look of pure outrage on her face, and she was coming at a speed that Ginny found very intimidating. Embarassment forgotten, she ducked out of the way right before the eccentric older girl chucked the book right at the place where she had been standing. She looked up in time to see it hit Malfoy squarely on the shoulder before bouncing off to the land on the floor with a loud thud. He cringed in pain.

The laughter in the hall ceased. Suddenly all of the attention was directed away from Ginny and onto the spot where the book had hit some invisible wall. No one could see anything, but everyone knew there was something there. Malfoy looked like a deer caught in the headlights, clutching his shoulder and grimacing at the unseeing faces around him.

Luna swerved around to Ginny, her eyes wide as they always were. She stripped off her sweater. "Put it on. Let's get out of here."

The two girls, with Colin in tow, hurried out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Ginny couldn't explain herself. She was now, thankfully, in dried clothes, but her cheeks felt as though they would be stained with embarassment for the rest of her life. Colin and Luna sat across from her in the library, homework spread out in front of them. Luna had insisted that she did not care for an explanation, but Colin still eyed her a little warily. Her head ached with all that had happened today, and with the need to share what was going on with her friends. But there was no way she could tell them something as crazy as this. Not even Luna, who was a little crazy by nature, would believe _this_.

"I'm being haunted by the ghost of Draco Malfoy," she said abruptly. Both her friends looked up from their work. She could have told them that they had both turned into giant radishes for all the reaction she got.

"I see," Luna murmured dreamily. For all the heroics she had performed this morning in the hall, Luna was still as spacy as ever.

Colin looked a bit concerned. "You should get more sleep, Gin. Don't worry about today. It was just Peeves, as always."

Thing was, Ginny had almost believed it was Peeves, too. Everyone else had come up to her and expressed how awful it must have been to be on the butt end of Peeves's horrible behaviour--even the Professors had decided that some punishment needed to be doled out to the wicked poltergeist. No one had even considered the fact that it could be anything else. Was it Peeves? Perhaps _all_ of this had been the work of Peeves, and she was just the punchline on one of his nasty, drawn out jokes. Maybe Malfoy was safely comatose--or dead, whichever it was--and Peeves was just taking advantage of the situation. Oh, how her head throbbed!

"Hogsmeade!" Luna said, suddenly and rather loudly. "Yes, Hogsmeade. Ginny, you need to come to Hogsmeade with Colin and I next week. We have a surprise for you."

Colin, who had paused in his work to listen to Luna's tirade, nodded enthusiastically, a lively smile forming on his face. "That's right. I was telling you about it before. We'll have to make you look nice."

Ginny frowned. Why would it matter if she looked nice? What was this surprise about? Colin and Luna had never been so determined to get her to come to Hogsmeade with them. "Okay, then," she said, for lack of anything else to say. Whatever this was about, she sure hoped it would get her mind off Draco Malfoy--or whoever it was.

* * *

Ginny found herself creeping silently along one of Hogwarts' main halls, many hours after curfew that night. She had tossed and turned in her bed for the better part of the night, and yet sleep had solemnly refused her. It was not that she had been harassed--it was that she hadn't been harassed since the spectacle that morning. She was really beginning to think that the whole ordeal had really been Peeves' well-made illusion--that all this time she had suffered at his hands, rather than at Malfoy's. The thought made her bite the inside of her cheek. She couldn't fight the small feeling of regret.

She just needed to make sure. Maybe if she could find Malfoy, everything would be clarified. Yes, that's what she needed to do. She needed to find Malfoy.

She paused for a moment, holding her breath. No, the small shuffling wasn't Filch or the cat. It couldn't be. Ginny had long learnt that the best way to stay out of their company was to travel the corridors they least suspected. There was no way they would even patrol this hall tonight--they would pass it up for smaller nooks and crannies where amorous students or plotting pranksters might be hiding. No, this sounded all too much like the rustling of Hogwarts robes, and the forcibly quiet footsteps of school-appropriate dress shoes. She spun around, fully expecting to see Malfoy's bemused face right before her.

But the hallway behind her was shadowed and empty.

A passing fancy, she reasoned, stepping forward to continue on her way. And into something hard and warm she walked.

She couldn't hide her sigh of relief at seeing the loosened Slytherin tie she had become strangely familiar with. The disheveled blonde locks and piercing grey eyes almost made her smile. Almost.

"Malfoy!" she breathed, some of her earlier anger reigniting at the small, content smile on his face. It was strange to see his lips curved like that. Very strange. "You--you _git_!"

"That's a nice way to greet someone you've missed," he replied, snarky as ever. Ginny realized that both his hands were gripping her shoulders, his touch firm and oddly reassuring. This _was_ Malfoy. It had to be.

She brushed him off, peeked around him to ensure that no one was coming, and began to walk again. He fell into stride beside her. "I didn't miss you," she remembered to say. She wondered why her words didn't sound convincing, even to her own ears. She _hadn't_ missed him. She had just been confused as to whether or not she was being deceived by Peeves. Now, of course, she knew that she wasn't and _that_ was why she wasn't more angry. They continued to walk.

"Where are you going this early in the morning?" he asked, more to himself than to her, "The sun's not even up." She looked sideways at him to find that he was not even watching her.

Truth be told, she hadn't had a destination when she'd set out of the Gryffindor Common Room not too long ago. She'd only wanted to find him, to make sure that he wasn't Peeves. But now that he was here, she knew where they would end up perfectly well. She decided not to tell him.

"That was an awful, malicious thing you did this morning," she countered, unable to keep some anger from her voice, "I'm glad Luna hit you with that book. I hope it hurt."

"Oh, it ached. Just like that kick in the face you gave me last night," he let his words sink in, his tone of voice mocking, "Now that was an awful, malicious thing, too, wasn't it? That kick in the face."

She chewed her lip. Well he had been _pulling_ her toes! The obnoxious git could not possibly think that one little kick made it alright for him to humiliate her--AND Colin--in front of the entire school.

Well maybe it had been more than one little kick. Ginny couldn't hold back a snort of laughter as she recalled the agonized expression that had been on his face. It had just been so unlike anything she had ever seen before! She felt most of her anger dissolve almost immediately. Perhaps they were even now.

They came upon a small side door that Ginny often used to get out onto the grounds. It was nestled in a discrete little place that meant it was rarely, if ever, discovered, and in Ginny's experience, it was never locked. As they reached it, Malfoy seemed to realized where they were going.

"The pitch!" he said, and Ginny heard some wonder in his voice. He sounded unbelievably happy, but when she chanced a glance at him, his face was grim. He seemed to be grinding his teeth.

To her surprise, he opened the door for her. "Go on," he urged, ushering Ginny through onto the wet grass. The sky was a dark blue, and there was a long line of brightness along the horizon. Almost morning. In the distance, the stands of the Quidditch pitch stood proudly. Ginny felt her heart jump, as it always did, when she saw it. This was a place where she could fly, forgetting everything around her.

But she couldn't forget her current company, she realized. Malfoy had stepped almost tentatively out onto the grass, and when both of his feet were firmly planted, he let out a beaming smile. Ginny stepped back, not sure of how to react. He muttered something, looking at her with wide, surprisingly childish eyes. Ginny blinked, confused. Then, she was staring at his back as he sprinted, quickly, towards the pitch, his clothes billowing as they caught the wind. She began to run, too, suddenly eager to keep up with him.

She reached the pitch out of breath, glad to collapse to her knees on the soft grass. He stood at the center of the arena, turning around as though taking it all in. There was a cool breeze that rumpled his hair and splashed Ginny's face refreshingly.

She had to remember that this was _Malfoy_ here. He seemed crazily out of character.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she called, sitting comfortably on the damp ground. She could feel the morning dew drops soaking through her jeans to her skin.

He turned towards her, as though just realizing she was there. He came closer, his face once again composed. Something about the way he stood, though, suggested to Ginny that he felt extremely relaxed, perhaps even overjoyed, if Malfoys were capable of such a feeling.

He watched her for a brief second. "This is where I died," he said, quite calmly.

Ginny's eyebrows rose. "I see." The sun was rising on the far side of the field. She looked up at him from her seat on the ground, and he returned her stare. As she watched, his body seemed to grow transparent in the sunlight until she could see the morning sun right through him. A vague outline of his body remained, but Ginny felt as though he were not really there. Malfoy was not really there. The person in front of her, this person through which she could see the dawn--this person was a ghost. It was not Malfoy at all. "You really are dead," she said, frowning up at him. Her chest hurt for some reason. The place behind her eyes throbbed heavily.

"Yup. Dead as ever."

He turned away, but Ginny could not help feeling like those eyes, a transparent grey against the sunrise, were still looking right into her.

**Author's Note: Intense! What is brewing between these two? And oh no, Malfoy is really, really dead. Oh, rats! Despite this, he is still capable of amazing douchebaggery, as seen in the beginning of this chapter. Dead or not, evil sure suits him.**

**I am **_**so**_** sorry for this late, late, late, late chapter. If only I could begin to explain the technical horrors I went through this past month. My computer crashed for some reason--taking with it years of family pictures and all of the notes I had for this story. I have now learnt the art of backing your work up. Yes indeed. Now that I have a computer again, I really hope to get this story finished! Chapter six will be up soon soon soon.**

**Sorry for the wait again! Reviews, please.**


	6. A Knowitall Afterall

Picking Flowers

| VI | A Know-it-all Afterall

Ginny had never felt more resolute. From the snug cardigan she had donned against the increasing chill of the castle, to the tightly tied laces on her runners--Ginny knew she had to do something. She marched straight into the library that evening, Malfoy wandering uninterestedly behind her. But it didn't matter how much interest he showed in this. It was her mission, anyway. She found an empty corner with table and chair where she quickly dropped her things--a small satchel containing a couple rolls of parchment, a few quilles and two full inkpots. She was ready to buckle down and do some research on ghosts.

It was harder than she thought. The Hogwarts library was very good for many reasons. For one, it was possibly one of the biggest wizarding libraries in Britain, if not _the_ biggest. It contained a wealth of information on a wide variety of topics, a variety so wide that one often found things one did not expect. It was a wonderful, quiet place; very good for studying or researching or just leisurely reading. Despite this, and despite Madam Pince's best efforts, it was not the most _orderly_ of places. Ginny knew that she might spend hours among the shelves, searching for just one book on her chosen topic--and that, of course, was unacceptable. She needed information fast; not just for Malfoy's sake--and of course she was trying to help him, no matter what a ponce he was--but for the sake of her sanity, as well. She might go crazy if she was forced to spend too much time with a person no one else could see. A person she, essentially, was not fond of in any way, shape or form.

She had to find a way to get rid of him.

She walked among the maze of stacked books, intent on her task. Malfoy lounged around nearby, watching her with, what Ginny now realized, were frightfully unnerving eyes. Ever since this morning, she hadn't been able to look him in the face. It didn't matter. This was for his own good. She felt a smile threaten her lips as her eyes finally, at long last, scanned over a title that might be of some use. _Understanding the Undead_ by Gertrude Ghossy. It probably had all sorts of drivel on vampires and zombies, but she would see what she could find in there before searching out any other tomes.

The book was remarkably heavy. It weighed her arms down leadenly, and Ginny glared discretely over at Malfoy, who seemed to be studying a shelf not far down the aisle. Well the git could have helped _a bit_, couldn't he? She returned to her table, straining against gravity that seemed to tug the book downwards. It wasn't even that large, really. Leatherbound and unobtrusive, she probably never would have picked it up if she hadn't been in such a situation--being haunted, and all. She sat, fixing herself comfortably, and opened the book.

She found it very difficult to understand anything she read. The writing upon the cream parchment was legible, despite being a slight scratchy, but her eyes simply would not stay on the page. Malfoy prowled about the vicinity restlessly, scowling into the air for no reason. Despite herself, she followed his movements closely, wondering how a person so filled with life and energy could possibly be dead. But she couldn't question it anymore--she _knew_ he was dead. Everything pointed to it. It was a question she had to leave behind as answered, though for some reason the answer did not sit well with her.

Finally, Malfoy stopped his relentless pacing. His eyes moved towards her, and Ginny hurriedly looked away. In the next moment, he was behind her, peering over her shoulder at the book she had on the table. She felt her hair rise on end as he leaned in close, his breath nearly tickling her ear. And then he was on the other side of the table, seating himself irritably. He looked at her blandly.

"Exorcism, Weasley?" he asked, shortly, gesturing towards the page she had unwittingly flipped to. Ginny stared down, surprised. She was almost at the end of the book, and she hadn't read a word. Her finger traced the outline of the page, reading the bold letters near the top. _Chapter 66: Everyday Exorcism_. She shut the cover promptly. For some reason, her cheeks flushed with shame. She studied his edge of the table and could see his fingers tapping impatiently. There was no way she could look him in the eye.

The silence seemed to stretch.

"Why are you researching this kind of thing, anyway? Don't you have homework to do?" She did have homework to do. Lots and lots of neglected homework. But there was no way she could do _schoolwork_ while the ghost of a Malfoy, visible only to her, dumped cold liquids over her head and the heads of her friends. There was no way she could concentrate on anything but the way she had seen the sunrise through his nonexistent body, no way she could fight the peculiar feeling that gripped her when she thought of it. "Well?" he said again, his voice sharp.

"You can't stay like this forever," she said, trying to sound confident. "And there's no way I could tolerate you forever," she added, as an afterthought.

He pressed his lips together into a thin line. Ginny wondered if she had offended him. Instead of saying something caustic, however, he got up. Without sparing her a backward glance, he trotted away into the depths of the library.

Alone, now, with the book that she had picked out, she looked down at it, wondering why it felt so hard to open again. She stared at it almost hatefully for a few minutes. _Everyday Exorcism_? Who was she kidding? This was a hopeless venture and she knew it. She rose, leaving the book on the table and gathering her things. She should just leave.

"Where are you going, Weasley?" She spun, surprised to see that Malfoy was back. He held a stack of sizable books in his arms, and he was watching her in the strangest fashion.

She turned away. "I'm tired," was all she managed. She tried not to run as she left.

* * *

Malfoy did not visit her that night.

* * *

The walk towards the library felt like the longest walk of her life. Her last class of the day just done, Ginny had suffered an awful Monday. Nothing about it had been particularly outsandingly terrible, but for some reason she knew that it was terrible nonetheless. She had not seen Malfoy all day. Lost in a large crowd of first years, she tried to convince herself that she was not worried about him. She was just going to the library to do some research for her Charms essay. She was not looking for him.

She scrubbed her hand tiredly through her hair as the first years disappeared around a corner. The noisy enthusiasm that had come with them left, leaving the hall and Ginny perfectly empty. She hated Malfoy for making her like this. If she didn't see him at least once in a day, she started thinking that maybe she was crazy. Was he real? Was she real? Was this all some maddening dream? She continued her trek to the library.

He was at the same table she had vacated last night, his head propped up on his hand as he sat, engrossed, in a book. There was something strange about seeing him like this, obviously fascinated with something he was reading. Malfoy...reading. She had heard he was a good student, mostly from Ron and Harry who were both constantly at a loss as to how his grades could be almost as good as Hermione's. But she had spent a lot of time in the library and never once had she seen him there. Reading did not seem like something the likes of Malfoy would engage in.

He looked up when she took the chair across from him. His face betrayed nothing upon seeing her and he, as though she had not disturbed him at all, returned his gaze to the book in front of him. She bent, shuffling in her bag for a moment before bringing out her half-finished Charms essay. That was what she had come to work on, after all. She opened her Charms textbook in her lap, so as not to take up too much of the table space, and promptly began to write. The essay was due tomorrow.

The time seemed to pass quickly, and she became utterly absorbed in her work. Her hand began to ache and the quille she was using became worn down. Her inkpot was almost empty. Charms was not her favorite subject, that was for sure, but the subject matter for the essay had her spellbound. No time seemed to have passed before she laid down her quille, the essay complete before her. She sighed in satisfaction. She had not been that focussed in a very long time, and it felt good to have finished something.

Flexing her hand, she looked up to see Malfoy staring quite blatantly at her. He blinked and said nothing, but Ginny could not possibly allow the silence to continue.

"What are you reading there?" she questioned, gesturing to the now closed book beneath his hands. It was evident that he had been finished for quite some time. He looked down at the book as though he had forgotten it was there.

"_Defensive Magic Through the Ages_ by Leonidus Redfellow," he said, making a face, "It did not live up to my expectations at all."

Ginny almost laughed. Here she was, sitting across from Malfoy in the library talking about how the book he had just read did not live up to his expectations. She could almost forget that he was _Draco Malfoy_. And that he was irrevocably, irreversibly dead. Ginny saw his eyes quickly scan the parchment she still had in front of her.

"Your handwriting is atrocious, by the way, Weasley," he stated. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for that," she replied sarcastically, "Your opinion means the world to me."

"I know it does," he said cockily, arching one of his fine, golden eyebrows, "Otherwise you would not have come searching for me today." Ginny sputtered, taken aback. "See? Even in death my charm is much too great for you." Ginny shook her head, denying him while somehow intent on ignoring him. Was he _teasing_ her?

There was a brief, easy silence--much too easy for Ginny's comfort.

"I've been thinking," Malfoy said suddenly. His voice seemed strained for some reason. "I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, Weasley." She looked at him to find him watching her with that same blatant look on his face. Nothing about his expression could give her any hints as to what was going on in his head. She found it incredibly frustrating for some reason, and grew impatient when his pause stretched too long.

"And...?" she urged, sounding more irritable than she felt. _He'd _been thinking about what _she'd_ said. She could hardly believe such a statement, coming from his mouth, but she might as well find out how he saw it all.

He shot her look, and in it Ginny saw something that, unconsciously, made her sigh in relief. Resentment--all the resentment he had harboured towards her and her family--it was still there behind this awkward facade of civility they had put up. She was glad, she told herself--_very_ glad.

"Ginny?! Who are you talking to?"

Ginny spun around, her eyes wide. There, just beyond their table, was Hermione Granger, a pile of books in her arms and her face filled with concern.

"No one!" Ginny said, hastily, "I'm just working, that's all."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and Ginny could not help but think that they were filled with suspicion. "Are you...alone?" Hermione asked, approaching the table somewhat cautiously. Ginny looked towards Malfoy, who was sitting stock still. It seemed that he was extremely uncomfortable with being invisible to everyone else but her. If he tried to get up, though, Hermione would see the chair move.

Ginny nodded to Hermione, "Yes, of course. There's no one here, is there?" Malfoy sneered at her, as though offended by the way she brushed off his existence, but Ginny was not paying attention. The brown-haired girl's bushy head had never seemed so intimidating.

Hermione dropped her heavy armful onto the table, and looked at the chair Malfoy currently occupied. Ginny's stomach clenched when Hermione made no move to take it. Did she know? Could Hermione see him, too? Hermione remained standing, and she eyed something on the table thoughtfully.

"_Defensive Magic Through the Ages_?" she questioned, picking the book up and inspecting it, "I've never read this one. Is it good?"

"It didn't...live up to my expectations," Ginny replied after some hesitation, and couldn't help a small smile in Malfoy's direction. He was smirking.

Ginny looked up to see that Hermione had followed her eyes. She now stared exactly at the place where Malfoy's head should be--but Ginny realized now that all Hermione saw was empty space.

"Anyway, Ginny," Hermione said, redirecting her eyes, "I needed to talk to you about that incident Saturday morning." Hermione's intelligent brown eyes seemed wrought with curiousity.

Ginny's breathing hitched, and, despite herself, her foot began to tap beneath the table. "What about it?" she asked, fully prepared to lie her way out of this. Should she tell Hermione what was going on? No, the older girl would undoubtedly admit her to St. Mungos.

Hermione paused a moment, glancing yet again to the seemingly vacant chair across from Ginny. She still did not sit. "You know, I've had a lot of run-ins with Peeves over the years," Hermione explained, "He's really never up to any good. And I know everyone believes that Peeves is the one that caused what happened to you and Colin on Saturday but...I don't think it was Peeves at all."

Ginny found she was holding her breath. Trust Hermione to come up with some other explanation--an explanation that was likely closer to the truth than either Ginny or Malfoy wanted.

"See, I've thrown my fair share of items at Peeves--and seen a whole variety of items thrown at him. Slippers, inkpots...books. Really, you grab whatever's avaible to get him out of your hair." Hermione was frowning, her nimble fingers playing with the binding on the book she still held in her hands. "But," and she looked right at Ginny now, "No matter what I've thrown, it's never _bounced_ off of him."

Ginny released a breath, but none of the tension left her body. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well," Hermione said, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear, "The culprit wasn't Peeves. It was someone--or something--else. Ghosts and poltergeists like Peeves and Nearly Headless Nick; material objects go right through them. That's how they go through walls and ceilings and such. Whatever poured that milk on you, it wasn't one of the spirits that haunt Hogwarts."

Oh, but it was. If only Hermione knew she was within inches of Malfoy's ghost; a new ghost to haunt the halls of the castle, perhaps not like one she had ever read about or experienced. Ginny was silent. Hermione took it as reason to worry.

"Are you sure you're alright, Ginny? Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Nothing at all," Ginny replied, trying her best to act as brightly as she could. If Hermione legitimately found out about Malfoy's current way of existing, what would she do? Would she be able to offer the answers to all of the questions Ginny wanted to know? If only there were some concrete way of proving to another person that he really existed.

"Well, I'm going to go check these books out, then," Hermione said, a small smile on her face, "See you later!" And then Hermione did something very strange. While reaching down to gather the books, her right hand flung out rapidly in Malfoy's direction. Ginny saw his entire being shimmer as her hand went through his chest, a look of the purest disgust on his face as he pushed away from the scene, toppling the chair he'd been sitting on. "Oops," the other girl said, her smile now tight. She looked knowingly, and not unkindly, at Ginny. "If you need me, don't hesitate to ask." And off she sauntered toward the library entrance and Madam Pince's desk.

"That--_that filthy_--" Malfoy cut off, sneering nastily at her back as he brushed off his robes, harshly, as though he were also trying to brush away the parts of him Hermione's hand had gone through.

Ginny eyed speculatively. "She means well. She might even be able to help us." He flashed her a dangerous look. "I mean, concerning your condition. Hermione knows a lot of things. She could probably recommend me a book or something."

The young man before her grimaced. "Listen, Weasley," he said, his voice low, "I don't want anyone knowing about this. If, by some miracle of Merlin, I were to actually be alive..."

Ginny understood. Some part of Malfoy had not really given up on life yet. All of the things he had been doing with her these past few days--pulling her toes, pouring milk over her--if he were to come back from whatever state he was in, he would not want to have to acknowledge that they had happened. The only reason he was really here was because, if he wasn't, he existed to no one but himself.

"How did you die?" she asked suddenly, blurting the question out before she could even process what she was saying. It had been on her mind for a while now--Dumbledore had only called it a 'terrible and tragic accident', and Madam Pince had not said anything. Ginny knew he had died on the Quidditch pitch, because that was what he had told her. But she could not fathom how such a thing had happened to Malfoy, who rode his broom like birds ride the currents--flawlessly, perfectly.

But she knew almost immediately after it left her mouth that it had not been the right thing to ask. Malfoy's lower jaw twitched in some kind of repressed fury. "It's none of your business," he said, quietly--and Ginny had a flash of real fear. This was the Malfoy she had caught a glimpse of before--briefly, when she'd seen the resentment in his eyes--but now she saw him fully before her. Malfoy was still Malfoy, no matter how much he pulled her toes or pinched her bum.

* * *

Ginny was just leaving the library when Luna and Colin accosted her. They both appeared to be glowing.

"What are you two on about?" she questioned, realizing how exhausted she was when she heard her own voice. She glanced surreptitiously behind her, hopeful, for some reason, that Malfoy had followed her out. He hadn't.

"Oh, its so exciting, Ginny!" Luna said, smiling dazedly. The way her head shook caused the small, hairy earrings she was wearing to shiver oddly. Ginny wondered if they were something alive.

"Don't give it away!" Colin broke in, shooting Luna a stern but amused look. "Now Ginny, can you guess what we're doing on Thursday night?"

Ginny shrugged. "Homework?" Colin and Luna glanced at each other in disbelief.

"Should I slap her, or should you?" Luna asked, quite seriously.

Colin rolled his eyes. "We're picking what you're to wear on Saturday, idiot!"

It took Ginny a moment to realize what they were talking about. "Oh! Hogsmeade; I almost forgot." Luna and Colin once again exchanged glances. "I suppose that's fine. Honestly, though, what's all the fuss about? I can't think of any reason I shouldn't go to Hogsmeade wearing my bathrobe."

"It'd be far too cold for that, dear," Luna stated, her blue eyes wide and sincere.

"And you'd look stupid, even if there wasn't such a fabulous reason to look good as Luna and I have procured for you."

"So you're obviously not telling, then?" Ginny prodded, curious despite her tiredness.

"Our lips are sealed," Colin said happily, and Luna slid her fingers across her lips as though zipping them shut.

Ginny sighed, but couldn't help a smile at her two best friends. Whatever Colin and Luna had 'procured', she knew it would be good.

**Author's Note: And on it goes...This story is turning out far longer than I had anticipated. It's all that blasted development that's keeping me from writing a good lemon! And yes, there will be a lemon or a semi-lemon or something (or two!) in this story. I couldn't call it complete if there wasn't. Originally it was supposed to be this short, fast little thing I did to get over a plot bunny and mild writer's block, but now I think I like it far more than that.**

**I hope everyone is enjoying it! Thanks for the super reviews, and expect chapter seven soon!**

**Review review review!**


	7. A Letter From the Dead

Picking Flowers

| VII | A Letter From the Dead

"Oh, this is the one for sure, Colin!" Luna called, her voice carrying dreamily from behind the changing screen. Ginny held her breath as the other girl zipped her in, grimacing as Luna's hands struggled with the last few inches. Well, if this wasn't the most ridiculous situation Ginny had ever been forced into! She tried not to look down at her own body, clad as it was in some hideous, floofy cocktail _thing_. The last few hours had been filled with similar get-ups, all pulled from Luna's closet. Never before had Ginny wished to escape the Room of Requirement so desperately.

Colin visibly held back a snort of laughter as Luna urged Ginny out of their makeshift change room. He sat comfortably on a plush sofa, amidst heaps of strewn about clothing-he had been the one choosing these outfits for her, Ginny knew, and she also knew he was doing it solely to make a fool of her. Still, she couldn't help bursting into peels of laughter alongside him when she caught her own reflection in the three-sided mirror the room had produced for them-she looked like some sort of glittering lizard in this dress.

Luna, on the other hand, thought it was just perfect. "See what I told you? It looks fabulous. The green and yellow brings out the blue in your eyes, Ginny," the blonde explained. She did not mention the fact that the green and yellow clashed horribly with the bright red of Ginny's hair.

"I think...it's too fancy for this occasion," Colin said, trying to sound reasonable. Colin would never allow anybody but Luna to go to Hogsmeade wearing something like this. He was much too fashionable for that to happen.

"You're right!" Luna exclaimed, as though just coming to that realization herself. Ginny bit her lip, holding back laughter. "How about the purple one, then?"

Colin's eyebrows raised. Ginny already knew the purple would make her look much too pale, and that it was far too vibrant to mesh with her hair colour.

"Why don't we try on some of the clothes I brought?" Ginny asked, "Your clothes are a bit too small for me, Luna." It was true, too. Luna was slender and almost willowy compared to Ginny's athletic build; not to mention the fact that Ginny had _definitely_ inherited Mrs. Weasley's generous chest.

Luna's blue eyes widened in understanding. "Yes, I agree. You won't be able to breathe if we go on this way."

Colin had already picked out an outfit. Ginny gave a sigh of relief as the clingy material of Luna's dress fell away from her body, and she gratefully donned her own more conservative clothing. A simple, flowy black skirt that she had only worn once, and a white spaghetti-strapped camisole beneath a warm, pink jumper. Ginny knew that this was the outfit she was going to Hogsmeade in, whether or not Colin and Luna approved of it. If she had to look nice, then she thought she looked plenty nice in this.

Colin nodded agreeably when he saw her in it. "Yup." He performed a charm that began to automatically fold and collect the scattered clothing around them. "That one is just right. Now put it on a hanger and keep it nice and clean for Saturday."

Luna nodded perfunctorily, handing Ginny the school robes she had abandonned in order to play this little game of dress-up.

Ginny wished she knew the time. Right on cue, the room produced a small, ticking wall-clock. "It's almost curfew," she said, as she performed a Shrinking Charm of the clothes she had brought with her. She stuffed them in her pocket, just as Luna did the same.

"Hmm," Luna replied in acknowledgment. Colin was already at the door, looking around the room to make sure nothing was forgotten. "Those Ravenclaw Prefects," Luna mused suddenly, "they seem to have itching dust all over them lately. Every time I come in late, they're always there scratching about the Common Room."

Ginny chuckled slightly. It was the same with the Gryffindor Prefects, most of the time. They were all over-eager to catch people coming in late. She pulled the door of the Room shut.

"Well, we're heading this way," Colin said, giving Luna a goodbye smile. Ginny did the same, and the blonde waved slightly as she split from them.

The two Gryffindors didn't rush as they walked back to their Common Room, but they didn't dally either. Neither one of them wanted admonitions from their Prefects, and the best, and in fact only way, to avoid that would be to get back to the Common Room before curfew. Still, Ginny couldn't help her curiousity about the upcoming Saturday.

She hopped in front of Colin, causing him to stop abruptly. "So what's my Saturday surprise?" she inquired, hoping that since he was away from Luna, his secret-keeping powers would be lessened.

His eyebrows drew down suspiciously. "Trying to worm it out of me, are you? Well, nuh-uh." He dodged around her with a surprising show of agility.

Ginny made a face at his back. She hustled to catch up with him. "Well...at least give me a hint!" she pleaded, grabbing his arm and pouting sorrowfully.

"Oh no!" he called dramatically, covering his eyes with his spare hand, "Not that _look_!"

It was a no go. No matter what tactic she used, it seemed that neither of her friends was about to budge. She said goodnight to Colin with some disappointment, retiring to her Dormitory with the intent to take a shower.

The hot water felt good on her skin, remarkably good. She let it run over her face and chest, relaxing into the sound of it hitting the shower tiles. Her thoughts wandered, mulling over what Colin and Luna had planned, trying to think of any reason the two of them could have for making her look nice to go to Hogsmeade. In past Hogsmeade excursions, she had usually worn an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt in good weather, and an old pair of jeans and a jumper in bad weather. It was true that her wardrobe did not often sport much variation for Hogsmeade trips. Like any girl, Ginny liked to look pretty-but only if she had a clear reason to.

Her mind took a turn into Malfoy territory. She had seen him a few times on Hogsmeade trips in the past few years, dressed impeccably in slacks and shirts, or sometimes even wizarding robes. All the Slytherins maintained their aristocratic exterior, no matter the occasion. The world might end before it saw Draco Malfoy don a pair of jeans.

She wondered what he had done in the library today. It seemed he spent most of his time there, stored away in that same little corner, absorbing as many books as he could put his hands on. He always had a new one when Ginny went to visit him after classes. Well, it wasn't so much _visiting_, she reasoned. She only went to do her homework. At least, that was what she had been telling herself these past few days. It wasn't like they had conversations, or anything. She didn't even enjoy his company, though it was quite good company for doing homework in-mostly because he completely ignored her. She just needed reassurance that he was really _there_. Today was the first day this week that she hadn't gone to 'do her homework'.

Ginny dressed in the bathroom, toweling off her hair in the steamy aftermath of her shower. In the morning, she'd head off early to the library, probably under the pretense of last minute homework. Malfoy would be there for sure, and she would be able to make sure he was real and that would be the end of it.

Her hair was still damp when she lay her head on her pillow. It would probably give her terrible hair in the morning, but Drying Charms didn't do much for her locks, either. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and stretching out her limbs, as she always liked to do before bed. It was a way of relaxing herself after a long day, a way of finally allowing the exhaustion to set in and carry her off into sleep.

But her left foot brushed against a warm, solid mass.

Her eyes opened and her head snapped to the side. And there he was-Draco Malfoy, in all his glory, on her bed in much the same way he had been one week ago today. He was right next to her, almost sharing her pillow with his arms crossed behind his head.

"Malfoy!" she said, her voice harsh with surprise as she sat up, "What are you doing here?"

He turned towards her, a smirk visible on his handsome face even in the dim light. "I haven't visited you in bed for a while, hm?" he mused, his silver eyes fixed on her.

"Get _off_!" she almost screeched, for some reason extremely embarrassed to have him lying right there, staring up at her. She made to shove him, but her hands against his shoulder had no effect. She removed them quickly, as though burned by the warm skin.

He made a face at her. "I thought you liked me now, Weasley," he said, mocking a hurtful tone, "I thought you wouldn't mind sleeping with me."

Ginny's eyes widened with outrage. She wanted to hit him upside the head, as she often did with Ron when he said something utterly stupid to which she had no reply.

Malfoy's face seemed to soften slightly, though Ginny couldn't be sure. "Where were you this evening?"

She felt something strange welling up in her stomach, heightened by extraordinary shock. "Miss me or something, Malfoy?" she questioned, looking away from him.

"No," was his simple answer. Ginny bit the inside of her cheek, somehow disappointed that he could be so brutally honest. "You're avoiding the question though."

"I was with my friends," she said, firmly, sounding more satisfied than she'd meant to, "I do still have friends, you know."

He rose up from the bed then, his eyes darkening with something Ginny couldn't identify. The mattress creaked with his weight. "You mean you were with that Creevey boy. Flirting with him. I saw it."

Ginny felt a flash of the oddest kind of pleasure. That meant he'd been watching her, and she'd be damned if he didn't sound a _little _envious. "So what if I was?" Not that she would ever flirt with Colin. She just wanted to see what Malfoy would do. She wanted to see if he was really jealous.

His eyes narrowed. Suddenly he was a lot closer than he had been before, and suddenly Ginny's heart was beating very quickly, hammering, in fact, against her ribcage. His body was emanating heat, and, Merlin, he was close enough for her to count his eyelashes. Something was fluttering in her stomach-and she was reminded of that time he had saved her from Mrs. Norris, the way he had had the length, the full entirety, of his body pressed against hers, and how alive and wonderful he had felt and what would it be like to feel that again and-

Ginny turned her face away from him, her cheeks burning. "Colin is gay."

"What?"

"Colin is gay, Malfoy." She watched his expression out of the corner of her eye, slightly amused despite her confused thoughts. He pressed his lips together as if finally coming to his senses, his eyes focusing, his body moving away from hers. Nothing else but these subtle, slight movements told her he had even registered what she'd said.

"Hmph," he grunted, "Lost that wager."

"Wager?"

"Never mind," he said, swinging his legs over the side of her bed and getting up. Merlin, but he was tall. Ginny had almost forgotten because most of the time she saw him, he was sitting in the library. He moved towards her satchel, opening it and plunging a hand inside. "Weasley, I'm going to use some parchment and ink. And a quill."

"What for?" she asked, despite being slightly miffed about his invasion of her things. He hadn't even _asked_ to use her stationary. He had simply _told_ her that he would.

"I'm writing a letter."

"To who?"

"Why, that's none of your business, Weasel." He glanced at her, smirking once again.

Well! Of course it was her business! He was using her things to write it, after all! Ginny rolled over, intent on putting him out of her mind. She tried to block out the sound of him rummaging through her things, and tried-desperately, really, to block out the strange, awkward emotions that were rolling about in her head. What had just happened between the two of them? Had he done that on purpose-that muddling of her thoughts-with some weird, ghostly magic of his? Ginny felt hopelessly confused.

She thought about what Colin and Luna had planned. That helped a bit. Going out to Hogsmeade, being away from Malfoy. That would make all of this better for sure. At least, she hoped so.

* * *

Ginny felt utterly ragged the next morning, but she managed to flash Dean Thomas an amicable smile as she settled down next to him for breakfast. The Great Hall was, as always, in a flutter of motion, filled with energy despite the grogginess of those within it. Ginny yawned, glancing up at the vaulted ceiling to see a cloudless, blue sky.

"Looks like the weather will be good for Hogsmeade tomorrow," Dean commented. Ginny could only nod. She had tried not to let Malfoy's letter writing interrupt her much needed rest, but for some reason it still had. Not only because he had wasted countless rolls of parchment and ink rewriting said letter, but because she had spent almost the entire night wondering who on earth he could be writing to. His mother? It seemed plausible, but much too cruel. The poor woman would probably think someone was playing a prank on her, posing as her dead son. She hoped Malfoy had sense enough to realize that much.

"You don't look so fantastic this morning," Colin commented, seating himself across from her and reaching for a slice of toast. He grinned widely nonetheless. "You'd better sleep well tonight."

"I'll work on it," Ginny said. Truthfully, the only way she was ever able to get a good night's rest was when Malfoy was behaving himself. When she had woken from her restless sleep, he and all traces of his nighttime activities had been gone. Only her dried up inkpot and half-dead quill had remained.

"Sleep's important," Dean agreed through a mouthful of eggs. Ginny offered him another smile, but her eyes were already scanning the Hall, settling finally on the Slytherin table. It's not that she was looking for Malfoy. She knew he liked to hang around the Slytherin table sometimes during meals and, even though she knew he had confined himself to the library lately, Ginny took ascertaining his presence in the Hall as a matter of caution. She did not want to suffer any more humiliation at his hands.

There he was, looking actually rather stricken, pacing back and forth in the general vicinity of Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. The two living Slytherins ate slowly. Ginny could not say that either one of them had returned to normal since Malfoy's accident. Although both kept up their aristocratic refinement and generally unreadable expressions, they looked deflated somehow. Ginny felt a pang of something almost like sympathy. If something had happened to Colin or Luna, she wouldn't even have been able to attend classes. Probably, she would have gone home and wept on her mother's bosom.

The post chose that moment to come in. All over the Hall, birds of every size and shape swooped down from the slitted windows, their flapping wings creating a current that made Ginny's hair fly up around her face. People jumped up excitedly to catch packages, and Ginny grimaced as a Daily Prophet splashed unceremoniously into her bowl, sending oatmeal everywhere. Once the ruckus had died down, Ginny reached for it, though her eyes had once again strayed to the Slytherin table.

To her surprise, Malfoy was standing stock still behind Blaise Zabini. The dark-haired boy held an opened letter in his hands. Ginny's eyebrows rose. Malfoy had written a letter to Zabini, then? She frowned, watching Zabini's eyes narrow as he glared at the letter and then flung it down onto the table. His face remained unchanged, but something incomprehensible flickered in his dark eyes. The tall, tanned boy rose swiftly from his seat, almost charging right through Malfoy on his furious way out of the Hall. Pansy stood, undoubtedly shocked by his behaviour, and Malfoy made as if to follow the other boy. What could the letter have said, to warrant such a reaction? Ginny almost moved to follow as well, before she saw Malfoy's steps falter and come to a stop.

She couldn't see his face because his back was turned to her, but something about his posture made her, inexplicably, want to hug him.

* * *

Malfoy was in his usual spot in the library after classes, and Ginny took her usual spot across from him. He didn't look up from his book, even when she neglected to take out any work from her satchel and just sat there staring at him. His face was almost obscured by the book he had chosen, and his blonde brows were furrowed as though in concentration.

Finally, he sighed, putting the book down and looking at her with a cocked brow. "Am I _that_ good looking?" he questioned, somewhat theatrically.

Ginny pursed her lips, ignoring the question. There were a million things she wanted to ask him, but how could she? Not only was he acting like nothing had happened, but she was sure he would completely brush her off if she even dared to touch on what had happened this morning. She needed to ask, somehow. Not only because she was the only one he had to talk to, but because she needed to know. Right now, anything that involved Malfoy involved her as well.

"How did your letter go?" she asked, cocking her head in what she hoped was an innocent fashion. Maybe if she pretended she hadn't seen this morning's debacle, she could get something out of him.

He sneered. "Don't act like you didn't see the whole thing." He picked his book back up, signaling the end of the conversation.

Ginny wasn't ready to end it there, even though she had been caught. If he knew she knew, then goddammit, couldn't he just tell her the rest? "What did you say in it, Malfoy?"

His eyes flashed upward to catch her own from over the edge of the book. "Why don't you go hang out with your _friends_ Weasley? It's a Friday night after all, and since you have them I'm sure they'd be ecstatic to see you." His tone was cold, biting. She hadn't heard him speak like that in what seemed like a very long time, and, strangely enough, it stung.

She got up, gathering her things. "I'm leaving, then," she said, trying to sound indifferent. If he didn't want to tell her, she wasn't going to stick around in his detestable company for longer than she needed to. She had done what was necessary-ensuring he was real, inquiring about this morning-and now she was leaving. It had been a while since she'd hung out with the other Gryffindors after class. Maybe she would challenge Ron to a game of Wizard's Chess.

It wasn't until she was out in the halls heading back to Gryffindor Tower that she realized her eyes were burning with tears. She wanted to cry, not because she felt slighted by Malfoy's behaviour, but because suddenly it had hit her: she had _friends_ to go back to, people who knew her and accepted her. She remembered Zabini's blunt rejection of the letter this morning, Malfoy's faltering footsteps, his defeated back. Malfoy wasn't simply being malicious. He missed his friends. He was _lonely_.

**Author's Note: Well it's been a super long time since I've posted anything. Like I often tend to do, I was reading over some of my work and this story once again stirred up my interest. I've always intended to finish it, because I really like the premise, so I'll probably keep posting as often as I can, when the fancy takes me. Review if you like it :-) Next chapter is Hogsmeade!**


	8. Surprise!

Picking Flowers

| VIII | Surprise!

Ginny felt altogether quite miserable as Colin and Luna ushered her along between them. The swarm of Hogwarts students that had erupted from the castle were only just fanning out into the little town, making the walk a little less crowded, but Ginny had yet to muster the excitement her best friends expected from her. The heavily overcast sky did nothing to ease her mood. Yesterday's weather had been just swell, but now rain-perhaps even a storm-seemed inevitable. She surveyed the depressing, grey clouds distastefully.

All things considered, she really should have been more enthusiastic. Because ghosts typically could not leave the general area in which they had died, there was no chance Malfoy could show up to ruin her day. This was a much needed break from him-a chance for her to forget about the ghost that haunted only her and live like a normal teenaged witch again. And she was out with two of her most favorite people in the world! She really had nothing to complain about. Colin walked proudly beside her, a perpetual grin on his face as he tugged her along, and Luna sashayed along on her other side, a pale, heavily ringed hand wrapped around her arm.

But Ginny thought of Malfoy. She wondered what he was doing, whether he was lonely in the empty castle reading yet another book pulled at random from a library shelf.

Colin and Luna stopped abruptly, tugging Ginny to a rest between them. They were on the side of the cobblestoned street, just outside Honeydukes. Through the store display window, Ginny could already see the small sweets shop packed with students, pushing and tugging at each other in order to nab their favorite chocolates in time. The sight made her smile slightly in longing, but the smile was quickly wiped off her face when both of her best friends rounded on her, their faces stern and patronizing.

Colin reached forward and pinched her cheek. She slapped his hand away in outrage.

"Good!" he said. Luna nodded as if the purpose of the whole exchange had been clear to her from the beginning.

Ginny made a face. "Is this the surprise you all promised me?" she grumbled, rubbing her cheek to emphasize her point.

"Of course not, dear," Luna answered, "The surprise we promised you...well, he's standing right behind you."

Ginny's eyes widened. She suppressed the desire to spin on her heel and investigate. "Bollocks," she said, "You're both having me on. I refuse to look." Their surprise was _a person_?

Colin was grinning. "You'll _like_ it Ginny," he winked, "You've _liked_ him since last year." Ginny's mind scrambled. Who on earth was Colin referring to? She wondered if the immense confusion she felt could be seen on her face.

"I'm getting impatient," a distinctly male voice said. Ginny recognized it immediately.

"Dean!" she exclaimed, spinning on her heel to face the boy. He had one brown hand in his short, black hair, rubbing his head with something of a self-conscious smile on his face.

"Surprise," he said, his voice clearly displaying his uncertainty, "Not what you were expecting, hm?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean..." She rounded on her two friends. Luna wore a dreamy, self-satisfied smile, and Colin looked unbelievably smug. "I don't get it?"

Colin shot her a look. "A date, Ginny! Your surprise is a date with Dean!" He sighed, as though lamenting her density, and took a step back. "Luna and I will leave you two alone, since we _obviously_ have better places to be." He directed his next statement to Dean. "She's out of it today, my friend, but bear with it. It was the best we could do." He snaked an arm around Luna and quickly began to guide her away. Ginny felt utterly dumbstruck.

"Thanks!" Dean called after them, and Colin lifted a hand in acknowledgment before he and Luna disappeared around the block. Dean turned to her now, his brown eyes smiling and a light pinkness on his tanned cheeks. "You don't mind this, right Ginny? I...really wanted to ask you out, but I couldn't figure out how or when or..."

Ginny couldn't quite put a finger on what she was feeling. There was relief, because it was Dean and she _had_ liked him for a while last year. And of course there was the residual confusion from that entire exchange. But there was also disappointment. Had she been expecting something else? Someone else? It took her another moment to realize that Dean was watching her with a worried expression, waiting for her to say something.

"Sorry! I mean, not sorry like that, because I'm happy it's you, but sorry as in..." Ginny shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. She was not some awkward twelve year old girl! This was Dean Thomas, and she spoke to him regularly at meals and in the Common Room. Surely she could get through one date without sounding like a wreck, no matter how muddled her thoughts were.

Dean flashed her a winning smile. "You _are_ out of it today, aren't you?" He chuckled a bit. "That's okay, I've had worse receptions." Ginny both blushed and laughed. "You're happy it's me, though?" He chuckled again, "Now that makes _me_ happy."

Ginny smiled. It had been a long time since she'd had a proper, one on one conversation with Dean and she had forgotten what a charmer he could be. It was remarkably refreshing. He grabbed her hand. "Since we're here," he said, leading her along, "We may as well run into Honeydukes. I know I, for one, need to restock my chocolate cupboard."

* * *

Ginny and Dean inevitably ended up at the Three Broomsticks for lunch. They had wandered much of Hogsmeade until the rain had started, and then had sprinted to the student-friendly pub under cover of Umbrella Charms. Still, by the time they arrived, there was already a line up for seats, and so they stood in the warm, dimly lit foyer chatting about this year's Gryffindor Quidditch Team. While Dean was not on the team himself, he was an avid fan and regularly attended practice games just for the fun of watching a match.

"We haven't had any practices scheduled for the past two weeks or so," Ginny mentioned, and Dean nodded.

"It's because of the Malfoy incident," he said, lowering his voice, "None of the Quidditch teams have had practice on the field. Out of respect, I'm guessing." Ginny felt her heart sink immediately after hearing Malfoy's name. She nodded, not sure how to reply. She had managed to place Malfoy at the back of her mind for most of her time with Dean, but being reminded of his dire circumstances had him at the forefront of her thoughts once again.

Dean bent toward her. "Speaking of Slytherins..." he continued, his voice even lower than before, "Did you happen to piss any of them off in a royal way? Blaise Zabini is staring at you like he wants to put an end to you with his eyes alone."

Ginny spun, following Dean's eyes with her own. Sure enough, there was Blaise Zabini, seated comfortably at a table with Pansy Parkinson and a group of other seventh year Slytherins, staring unabashedly at her. His gaze did not even falter when her eyes met his-instead, his eyes seemed to narrow even further. He was the picture of fury; brows furrowed and lips tight. Ginny looked away quickly.

There was no doubt in her mind what that was about, but there was no way she could tell Dean such a thing. She felt a flare of anger, but also of apprehension; she had done nothing to secure the wrath of Zabini. What exactly had Malfoy written in that letter?

"He looks pretty scary," Dean added, shifting in such a way that he shielded Ginny from the other boy's angry eyes. "I hope we don't have to sit anywhere near them."

Luck was not on their side. The first table that cleared was one almost directly in Zabini's line of sight. Dean quietly insisted upon sitting in front of Ginny, for which she was silently grateful. With his wide-shouldered form blocking her sight, it was easy to fall into the cheery atmosphere of the pub. There was a meandering folk tune playing just below the cacophony of voices, and the frequent eruptions of laughter and heated, but friendly, outbursts of conversation soon lulled Ginny into a cheerful mood.

One round of butterbeer in, both she and Dean had decided what they wanted to eat. Ginny was quickly discovering that he was comfortable to be around, to the point where they could lose track of time idly discussing menus.

"I'll have the fish and chips," she decided, watching as the pretty waitress jotted down her order. The girl turned her heavily lashed eyes to Dean, and Ginny could see her appraising him.

"The burger for me, and another round of butterbeer," he said, giving her a small, polite smile. The waitress batted her eyes at him, flashing a flirtatious smirk before flouncing off to the bar, where Rosmerta waited to take orders.

Ginny glanced at Dean, wondering if he had noticed the waitress's advances. He was quite handsome, Ginny found herself thinking for the first time that day. He had an attractive, full mouth and there was something about his dark eyes that made witches act like that waitress just had. Ginny flushed slightly, reminded of all of the reasons she had had a crush on him last year.

"You know, Seamus was telling me about this place that just opened a few months ago," Dean started, "Apparently, they have the most delicious pumpkin cookies. Maybe we could head over there after lunch for some dessert?"

"I haven't had a good pumpkin cookie in forever," she said, grinning, "I'd love-" She cut off as she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. Without even thinking about it, she turned her head to see who it could be. The most likely candidate was an infuriated Ronald Weasley, whom she would of course make short work of. Really, at her age, Ron had no business meddling in who she went out with. But her eyes met a Hogwarts uniform. That was weird. Who would come to Hogsmeade in their school uniform? Surely not Ron. She craned her neck to get a view of the person's face.

Undone Slytherin robes and a loose silver and green tie. Ginny flew up, toppling her chair straight back onto Malfoy, who caught it instinctively. A moment passed where she just stood, her back to him and her eyes closed. She felt like she might faint.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Dean questioned, standing as well. The people seated closeby quieted and began to stare. "The chair," someone whispered. Ginny heard it clatter to the floor at last, much too late for something not to be amiss.

"Weasley," Malfoy hissed from behind her, "say something already!"

That wasn't Malfoy's voice she had just heard. There was no way he could be here, right? He shouldn't have been able to leave the castle. She was going insane. She was stark raving mad already.

Dean's concerned hand on her shoulder brought back some of her composure. "Ginny?" he questioned again, his voice alarmed.

She blinked. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly, "So sorry. Need to go to the loo." She stepped over the fallen chair, not even bothering to right it in her hurry to escape the situation. Nodding off the worried questions of several people, she all but ran to the bathroom, slamming the door securely behind her and placing her back against it for good measure. She shut her eyes, trying to put a handle around her racing thoughts. Malfoy was not here. Everything she knew about ghosts said he couldn't be, which meant that he was definitely in the castle right now.

Someone pinched her arm and she yelped, her other hand flying to the abused skin even as she refused to open her eyes.

"You know I'm here. You should be used to me by now." His voice sounded real and close.

Used to him! This was not a matter of whether she was used to him or not! This was a matter of him being somewhere he shouldn't be, of him ruining a day that had been perfectly fine without him!

"I've lost my mind, haven't I?" she questioned, surprised her voice wasn't shaking, "I've finally gone over the edge."

"You're exaggerating this whole situation," he said evenly. She heard him take a step closer to her, and she pressed herself farther onto the bathroom door. "Just open your eyes and calm down. I need you to do something for me."

"You shouldn't even be here right now. You can't leave the place where you died. There's no way you're here."

"I thought you would have figured it out by now, Weasley. Not so bright, are you?"

"Figured what out?" she exclaimed, suddenly angry. She opened her eyes, and there he was; uncomfortably close to her, so that she had to look up in order to see his face clearly. He filled her line of vision; the broad shoulders blocking her from seeing anything else. Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. That was all she could see, all she could think about-and he had the nerve to call her 'not so bright?' She placed her hands on his chest, curling her fingers in the fabric of his robes, hating how warm he was-and shoved him away from her, right back onto the sink.

It was quiet for a moment. The anger of a moment ago was gone, but now the air felt thick between them. Ginny, plastered against the door and Malfoy across from her, braced against the sink where she had pushed him. It took her a moment to realize that she could only see her own reflection in the mirror behind him, and the realization caused guilt to wash over her.

He took a deep breath. He was watching her with dark eyes, his blonde hair fallen haphazardly onto his forehead from her earlier violence. He looked tired. "I can go wherever you are, Weasley," he said finally, "Didn't you wonder why I needed you to go onto the pitch with me, even though that was where I'd died?"

Ginny felt like sliding to the floor and curling up into a ball, both from the utter ridiculousness of his statement and the unexplainable regret she felt for being cold to him. Instead, she just stood, staring at him, feeling so many things at once that she wasn't sure what to say or where to begin. She had thought that this would be a break from him. Even though her thoughts had wandered to him more than once throughout the day, not _seeing_ him had been doing wonders for her. She'd even been enjoying her date with Dean, however much her feelings for him had faded since last year. All of this was almost too much for her.

But Malfoy was dead. Ginny caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror behind him. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale-but she was alive. She had to go back out there and apologize to Dean and continue on with her day, no matter who was haunting her and how sad it made her feel to know it.

"Look Malfoy," she began, her voice steady, "Let's talk about this later. I'm in the middle of something right now." She turned around to open the door, but suddenly his arm was there beside her head, pushing it closed.

"Your little date with Thomas?" he sneered, and she was surprised at the sudden anger she heard in his voice.

"Yes," she didn't turn to face him, "You said it yourself: I have friends to go hang out with, and he's one of them." His hand slid off the door as though he had lost his strength, giving her a clear invitation to leave. Despite herself, Ginny turned around to face him, and he stepped back. For some reason she was reminded of yesterday morning in the Great Hall; his face showed no expression, but there was something about his posture..."I'm _alive_," she said, as though that explained everything, as though that was her excuse for saying something so cruel. Her hand twitched, and for some reason she reached for him-but he stepped back again.

"Don't touch me," his voice sounded venomous, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

Her hand returned, limp, to her side. Her chest ached. She turned around and left without looking back.

**Author's Note: So it's been a long time since I updated. My excuse is that first year university is hard. I still have a lot of notes for this story, and I fully intend to complete it-just slowly, on my own time. Poor Draco, though. Ginny was way too mean in this chapter, even if she felt bad about it afterward! Review and tell me what you think!**


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